


Mechanized

by nonners



Category: Star Wars
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-19
Updated: 2005-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonners/pseuds/nonners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Droids were created to keep things running smoothly and help those the needed help. Whether on not they fufill the task is strictly based on the observation of the beholder. Presenting two very different opinions on the subject of droids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanized

Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone else, namely LucasArts, Bioware and Obsidian. I just like to write about them

* * *

He had always hated droids.

When he was working, stalking the Jedi he killed for a living, they would wander by, all metallic clanks and monotonic statements, helpful and helpless all at once.

He did his best to avoid them all he could; in his line of work, it was best to stay away from things one could not charm or intimidate. Or at least that's what he told himself.

The fact of the matter was that they sent a shiver up his spine each time he dealt with them, caused his stomach to churn just to the point where he was uncomfortable being in the same room with one.

The droids, who registered a blank on his private perception of the galaxy, who were the only ones better at hiding their true selves then he was, never sought him out, and he liked it that way.

Others appeared as colored emotions, lust and fear and annoyance. But the droids always stared at everything and nothing, feeling numbers and sequences instead of feelings.

And he swore he would never be like that. His emotions were real, and true… yet he covered them up to hide, to blend in, to—he could never finish the statement.

And droids were temporary. Because when they broke, downloaded some destructive virus or suffered some critical malfunction, they were useless.

And when _she_ came along, that female Jedi, he broke in the head. Just like droids do.

And he had hated himself, because for that one moment, when the Force screamed through his head and the deaths of his victims played over and over again through his memory, he realized something.

That the droids he detested and the life he lived were really not that different after all. His emotions—the ones he thought he felt—were the real lie.

He had hated droids, not because they were annoying, or untrustworthy, or useless: he had hated them because they reminded him of himself.

* * *

-

She had always liked droids.

They were much easier to deal with then humans; they took orders without questions or complaint or annoyance.

They were easier to figure out; a crossed wire or a short circuit as opposed to the infinitely more complex maze of the human psyche.

They never had to deal with love, or hate, or sadness, or regret.

They never had to listen to the pretentious pomp of Republic brass, or the long winded lectures of the Jedi.

So when things got tough, and the Mandalorians emerged victorious, or another bright prospect for the Admiralty died along with his ship, she would lock herself in her small room and build droids.

She had hundreds of them, custom made to do whatever she wished. She fashioned each one from the relics of battles, the spoils of war. Mandalorian, Republic—it didn't matter where the parts came from, as long as they worked. It was all a giant puzzle, seeing what would fit where, or which coupling would increase power and agility. It took time, and skill, and Revan had plenty of both.

Malak didn't understand her fascination with them, how putting together just the right combination of power and stealth could bring a flush to her cheeks and sparkles in her eyes. But she was happy, so he was happy, and that was all that really mattered.

It was a form of escape; a way of letting her mind travel beyond the thick walls of the Republic ships through the stars beyond to a place where she could escape the endless fighting and the plotting and the sinking sensation she felt when she thought about—she didn't like to think about it.

After all, it was sectors away, on a forgotten planet filled with dead relics of the past.

Droids were her way of staying sane. When a droid died, it exploded in a spectacular shower of sparks and broken parts. There was no blinding flash of pain as they joined the Force, no hearts skipping beats as they announced the death toll that she had already felt, in a dozen battles by a dozen planets.

And a droid could always be put back together, once it had broken. It could be fixed, once it had finished its task and outlived its usefulness.

And that's all she really wanted to think about.

* * *

  
 **Author's Note:** Yet another piece from me. Gosh, I seem to have caught the writing bug lately. As always, please mention if you see anything off, and all comments are appreciated. It should be fairly easy to guess who the two viewpoints are. This was inspired by two in-game statements that really made me think. And if there's anything you'd like to see, please tell me. I'd welcome a challenge. Thanks for reading! 


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